Reichenbach Misunderstandings
by Fan Gals
Summary: Cannon-divergent Reichenbach Fall. After rescuing the kidnapped kids, Sherlock does something that reveals a little more about himself. First fanfiction. Aspie!Sherlock
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

Sherlock had his suspicions.

They had developed when he first saw those kids in that abandoned factory. The little girl had not just been scared. The way her eyes darted around the area, examining every person there, made Sherlock very suspicious.

Very suspicious indeed.

He contemplated the clues as he and John sat there in New Scotland Yard. Well, John sat as Sherlock paced. It was impossible to sit still as he was forced to delay his questioning.

The little girl had seemed more than panicked. She had seemed...overwhelmed. Sherlock allowed the edges of his mouth to turn up a little as the pieces fell into place. Of course.

His thoughts were unceremoniously interrupted by Sgt. Donovan and Lestrade's abrupt entrance.

"Alright then. The professionals are finished if the amateurs want to go in and have their turn," Sally gave the pair a condescending look. The two pointedly ignored her and made their way toward the door. Lestrade held up a hand, "Now remember she's in shock. She's only seven years old, so anything you can to to-"

"Not be myself," Sherlock finished for him.

Lestrade nodded, "Yeah, that'd be helpful."

Sherlock straightened his coat and led John into the room where the girl was staying. The child in question sat next to a woman who gently rubbed her back. The girl's eyes darted frantically around the room, taking in everything.

As Sherlock moved to sit across from her at the table, the girl's eyes looked on him. Sherlock was vaguely aware of Lestrade and John standing a little behind him and others hidden in the dim lighting of the doorway. Sherlock was more focused on the terrified child across from him and the unstoppable result of her sensory overload.

The little girl gave a high-pitched scream as her mind tried to process her surroundings. Her brown eyes widened in panic and it didn't help when the woman sitting with her pulled her close.

Sherlock was suddenly a child again. His flashback to his own childhood panic attack lasted for less than a second, but he was flooded with an emotion that others would've thought impossible for him.

Empathy.

Sherlock quickly stood and felt a hand wrap around his arm. He was hauled to the door with Lestrade's yell, "Get out!"

Sherlock's mind shut out everything else as he acted instinctively. As easily as he would dodge a punch, Sherlock tore himself out of Lestrade's grip and moved so that he was right next to the girl.

Ignoring everyone's startled yells, Sherlock gently took the girl's hand. The woman at first tried to pull the girl away from Sherlock, but realized that it would only worsen the situation and reluctantly released the quivering form. Her eyes were trained on the detective the whole time.

"Calm down now," Sherlock murmured. "Deep breaths, it's okay. Fell my pulse." Everyone present stared at the two in shock as the little girl quieted and did as she was told. Sherlock gripped the girl's shaking hands and maneuvered her tiny fingers to his wrist. The child felt the even throbbing of Sherlock's pulse and relaxed her breathing, tears welling up in her eyes.

Her shrieks had become whimpers and her bottom lip trembled as her tears ran down her cheeks. In one quick moment, she threw her thin arms around Sherlock's neck and quietly sobbed into his coat. The detective stiffened at the contact before easing into the embrace.

The others in the room were speechless as they looked on at the heartless sociopath soothing the frightened child. The little girl's shaking words were so quiet that only fragments could be heard by John and the police force.

"I'm sorry… So sorry…I didn't mean to-" the girl's quiet voice faded into the echoes of her crying. Sherlock hushed her, "It's alright. You have no control over it."

The little girl pulled away and cast wary glances at the others as Sherlock stood. Panic flickered on her face as she seemed to realize just how many people had come to see what had happened.

Sherlock jumped in to rescue the child and shooed them out, "All of you that don't need to be here out, please. NOW!" He raised his voice slightly on the last word and all of the others except Lestrade, John and Donovan left the room to return to their respective duties. Donovan eased the door shut and Lestrade let out a question that he had bottled up for a while, based on his expression.

"What the heck was that?"

The girl flinched and looked down, suddenly finding her shoes very interesting. Sherlock gently took the opportunity to explain for her. "That was a panic attack caused by a sensory overload." Sherlock looked reflective as he continued, "These panic attacks are mostly triggered by traumatic experiences and crowds."

The girl gave a small sob and pressed her hand to her mouth, "I'm so sorry."

Sherlock knelt down and gently gripped her shoulder. "No, it's not your fault," the man insisted. The little girl didn't say a thing.

Sherlock looked up at the three, "This young lady has a special condition, a type of high-functioning autism. Asperger's syndrome is a sort of heightened awareness of the world. Those affected are extremely susceptive to sensory overloads. We often are misunderstood and ridiculed for it, despite our inability to control it."

John exchanged glances with Donovan and Lestrade at the shift to the more personal pronoun usage.

Sherlock stood up straight once more and clapped his hands together, "Now, I think that's enough for one night, don't you? The girl needs rest to prevent another attack." With that, Sherlock swept out of the room. John quickly followed his flat mate out of the room, giving the girl a smile as he left.

The two police officers were left alone with the girl to ponder what they had seen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello! I'm already back. Thank you to Dead Hero (scary name) for the review. As a special treat for being my first reviewer ever, I'm going to fill your request and write that extra chapter for you. Please note that I have not been diagnosed with Asperger's and I'm not a medical professional. I've done research to try and make this as realistic as possible. Enjoy!**

**I don't own Sherlock. *sniff***

* * *

John raced to catch up to his tall friend as Sherlock fled New Scotland Yard.

Only Sherlock could give an uncharacteristicly emotional monologue, confusing everyone, and walk away as if nothing had happened. Well, John had questions and was detirmined to get answers.

"Sherlock!" John huffed as they reached the curb.

Sherlock cast him a glance as he signaled for a cab. Sure enough, one pulled up right next to them and Sherlock pulled the door open. John took the invitation and slid into the cab.

"221 Baker Street," Sherlock informed the cabbie as he sat next to John. The cab pulled into the street, leaving the two men in silence in the back seat.

Several times during the ride to the flat, John opened his mouth to ask about what had happened before losing courage and closing it. He didn't ask until they were finally back in the flat. Sherlock sat on the sofa to think while John eased into his armchair.

"What happened back there? With the little girl, I mean," the words flew out of John's mouth so fast that they shocked even him. Sherlock looked slightly startled as he looked up,"Hmm?"

No going back now. "What happened with the little girl," John questioned, leaning foreward in his chair.

Sherlock sighed, "I was hoping that you'd never discover this, John. Do you remember when Anderson accused me of being a psychopath?"

"And you told Anderson that you were a high-functioning sociopath? Yes I do but why...Oh." John's eyes widened ever so slightly as he picked up on the implication of Sherlock's reference.

Sherlock looked down and quietly responded, "Yes, 'Oh'. That little girl and I share something. A special awareness of the world around us known to the medical community as Asperger's syndrome."

John simply nodded, trying to process this new piece of information. Sherlock and autism? It just didn't fit. But when you narrowed it down, it all made perfect sense.

The next thing to cross John's mind horrified him. Sherlock was often written off as inconsiderate and emotionless. He was called a freak for being rude and undesturbed by appalling murders. John now realized that maybe Sherlock wasn't acting that way on purpose. He was genuinely unable to feel things the way everyone else did and called out on it on a daily basis.

Sherlock looked at John intensely, almost analyzing his reaction to the confession. What happened next baffled him. John simply stood, walked to the kitchen and gave Sherlock a sideways smile,"Tea?"

Sherlock gave a releved nod,"Thank you."

They both knew that it wasn't for the tea.

* * *

**It's kinda short and really fluffy, but I had to write it. If you want, I can write a chapter on John defending Sherlock. It's totally up to you guys. Thank you so much for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm on a roll! You're welcome. New chapter time. As always, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I totally own Sherlock and John. I keep them locked in a special room with Percy Jackson and Harry Potter. *cough_ sarcasm_ cough***

* * *

There was no doubt that Sally Donovan had found much pleasure in spreading rumors about "Sherlock's disease" as she called it. The next case that Sherlock worked on after the kidnapping was a double homicide that occurred in an alley not far from St. Bart's.

As the duo from Baker Street entered the crime scene, all eyes turned to the taller of the two. Whispers and sneers greeted the detective who pointedly ignored them. John fought the urge to hit someone as he followed Sherlock. The detective stalked towards Lestrade.

"Ah, Sherlock just in time. We've got-" Lestrade began.

"Later, how's the girl?"

At this comment, all those around gave him an incredulous look. All except John, who looked a little proud of Sherlock's concern.

"What? That's what you're worried about?" Anderson's jaw hung open. Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow, "What reason do I need to be concerned?"

"Because it's you?" Sally offered.

"Let's just say that I have experience with what she went through," Sherlock scowled at her and cast an expectant glance at Lestrade.

Lestrade gave a distracted nod, "Yeah, she's fine. A lot better now that her brother's out of his coma."

Sherlock gave a curt nod and turned his attention to the case, "Good, now what can you tell me about the victim?" Settled back into their old routine, the others returned to their tasks. John stepped away from Sherlock and Lestrade to wait until he was needed. He also stepped closer to where Anderson was whispering to Sally.

Anderson leaned over to Sally and whispered, "Looks like the Freak's going soft. Think it's a side effect of that disease of his?"

John saw red and the next thing he knew, his fist had connected with Anderson's nose.

Anderson yelped and fell back clutching his face. Everyone gave startled gasps and Sally even surged forward as John fell back, realizing what he had done.

Lestrade and Sherlock whipped around to face the scene. Sherlock's eyes widened at the sight as Lestrade yelled, "John? What the-"

John walked up to Anderson. Sally clutched his arm and he covered his nose in an attempt to cover the blood that was now openly flowing down his face.

"I'm so sorry, Anderson, I didn't mean to. Here, let me help," John cautiously approached the man. Anderson shook his head in disbelief, "Oi! You broke my nose and you're calling it an accident!?"

John gave a sheepish shrug,"Well, I was in the military."

Ten minutes later and the case was solved. Lestrade sat with Sherlock and John in his office.

"So, why did you punch him?" Lestrade adopted Sherlock's signature pose and pressed his fingers together under his chin.

John looked up and said seriously,"He insulted Sherlock."

Lestrade nodded, exasperated,"Yes, but he always does that." His tone made it clear that he disapproved,"What was different this time?"

John frowned, which looked odd on his usually cheerful face and said,"He said that Sherlock's concern was a side effect of 'Sherlock's disease' as he put it."

Next to him, Sherlock stiffened. Lestrade scoffed from across the desk,"If you know it's not true and he doesn't care about his reputation-"

"It is true, though," Sherlock interrupted him. His eyes looked at his hands that sat clasped in his lap.

"No," Lestrade gaped at the detective sitting across from him. "You? You have-"

"A high-functioning form of autism that has been a thorn in my side ever since I was a child. Now if you'll excuse me," Sherlock and John stood, "We'll be going."

As they left the room, Lestrade called after them,"Hey, wait! You did just punch one of my officers."

John turned and gave him a cheeky grin,"Just blame the PTSD." With that, he followed his flatmate out into the street.

* * *

**Yay! That's done. Do you guys like the reactions? Should I keep going? Comment for more chapters! I'm open to suggestions and requests. Till then...**


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm back ****again****! I wasn't planning on writing anymore today, but your reviews made me too happy to stay away. I literally skipped around my room when I read them. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for all of the reviews! I'm going to write more interaction between Sherlock and the little girl in the next chapter, just for you funkypanda. Until then, enjoy!**

**Me no own (:**

* * *

After the kidnapping of the ambassador's children and the incident with Anderson's bloody nose (pun intended), Sherlock and John were more famous than ever. It also appeared that Moriarty was giving them a break from his insane ideas of fun.

They only had one enemy now: the press. It was nearly impossible to get to a crime scene without being swarmed by them. They were especially worrisome when they appeared without warning. It took all of Sherlock's energy to avoid panic attacks when reporters suddenly swarmed around them, and that was when he was able to get away quickly.

In Sherlock's opinion, the press was dead terrifying. They yelled questions, shoved microphones into your face and set off flashes with their cameras that blinded you.

As he was leaving the site of yet another crime that had baffled the Yard, Sherlock was suddenly blinded by a sudden flash of light. Then the shouting started.

"Mr. Holmes! Over here!"

"What happened this time Mr. Holmes?"

"Is Dr. Watson with you?"

He stood stunned for a moment, caught like a deer in headlights. His vision blurred, all noises sounded distant and echoing. Sherlock didn't even flinch when he felt a hand wrap around his arm and gently lead him into a nearby building.

When Sherlock was aware of his surroundings once again, he was propped against a wall. John, Lestrade, Anderson and Sally stood staring at him. Concern was evident on all their faces, even Anderson and Sally's. John's mouth was moving, but Sherlock's brain wasn't processing what he said.

He slid down the wall and into a sitting position. He wrapped his arms around his legs and tried to shut out his surroundings.

Detachment, Sherlock! You are not having a breakdown in front of all these people.

Sally turned to John as the detective slid into a protective position. "What on earth is going on?!"

"In a second. For now just back up! He needs space," John crouched down next to his frightened friend and gently but forcefully pried the man's hand away from his knees. John moved Sherlock's fingers to his wrist. After a few moments of the detective's fingers feeling his blogger's pulse, Sherlock finally began to calm down.

The others stood in stunned silence as the man choked out two words,"I'm sorry."

"No," John said firmly,"It's not your fault. You can't control it."

Sherlock stood and gulped, looking ashamed. Finally, Sally spoke,"What was that?"

Sherlock gave her a mocking look as he said,"That, _Sally_, was 'Sherlock's disease'. It is also a form of autism called Asperger's."

He glanced out at the street through the window to ensure that the press had gone and turned to leave. John followed him out the door. Sally turned away from the door to look at the other two officers when a voice called her name from behind her.

"Oh, and Donovan?"

She turned to see Sherlock standing in the doorway.

"Yes, Freak?"

"I'm still smarter than you."

* * *

**You like? Please give me feedback and ideas. Thanks again for reading, guys!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry for taking so long. This chapter's been giving me trouble. I just didn't know how to take Sherlock and make him act differently without making him too out of character. Um, so I hope you guys like it. Remember that I own nothing. Enjoy!**

* * *

It was a Friday and John could already tell that Sherlock was bored. One indication was the fact that Sherlock was hacking into Mycroft's phone and messing with his schedule. John could hear Sherlock muttering under his breath about 'goldfish'.

The cure for Sherlock's boredom came in the form of a phone call from Mycroft. John put the call on speaker.

"Ah, Doctor Watson," Mycroft's voice drifted from John's mobile.

Sherlock huffed and flopped back onto the couch, obviously picking up on his brother's voice. John rolled his eyes at his flatmate's antics, "What is it, Mycroft?"

"There is a party being held by the American ambassador. Along with the whole of Scotland Yard, he requests that you both attend."

Sherlock sat up quickly. The American ambassador was Claudette's father. Chances were that she and her brother would be there.

Mycroft chuckled over the phone, "I knew you wouldn't be able to resist. The ball is tomorrow. Dress formally and, yes Sherlock, I'm talking to you. You are not going to attend a party in a bed sheet."

Sherlock distractedly agreed, "No, that would be most inappropriate."

He strode out of the room and towards his rarely used bedroom. John watched the detective leave and shrugged, turning back to his phone, "We'll be there. Goodbye, Mycroft."

"I will meet you there. Goodbye, John."

* * *

The next day, John and Sherlock were standing in an elegantly decorated room, surrounded on all sides by men in tuxedos and women in elegant evening dresses.

John quickly lost Sherlock, who disappeared into the crowd. He was headed towards the balconies. John gave up on trying to get to his friend after a few seconds.

Fighting his way through the crowd, John spotted Lestrade talking to DI Dimmock and DI Carter. With a small smile at seeing friendly faces, John made his way over to the three men.

* * *

Sherlock stood leaning against the stone railing that lined the balcony. He gazed up at the night sky, glad that he found a way to escape the inevitable panic attacks that being in the crowd would've brought.

But his Aspergers wasn't the only thing that had brought him out into the cool night air. With a knowing smirk, he turned to look to his right. At the other end of the balcony, two children were talking to each other.

It was easy to recognize the pair. Claudette and Max looked much healthier and happier than the last time Sherlock had seen them. Max was dressed as a little gentleman in a pint-sized tuxedo. His sister was an angel in her shimmering gold dress. Her straight, brown hair was pinned up in a bun.

Sherlock's smirk softened into a smile as he gazed at the two.

Claudette suddenly paused after a few moments, as if noticing that someone was looking at her. She turned with a confused expression.

Her confusion soon became delight as the little girl jumped up and raced towards Sherlock. Her brother, undoubtably aware of what was going on, raced after Claudette.

The girl threw herself into Sherlock's welcoming embrace, wrapping her thin arms around his neck. Quickly returning the hug, Sherlock was released from the child's grasp and turned to ruffle her brother's hair.

In the days following the kidnapping incident, Sherlock had privately kept in contact with the two. They referred to him as their Uncle Sherlock, and though both adored the detective, Claudette had a much bigger attachment to her uncle than Max did.

The unlikely trio stood talking-or rather listening to little Claudette-until Max was called away by a group of boys his age.

For a few moments, Sherlock stood with Claudette, the two of them listening to the end of a lively two-step played by the orchestra. After the guests inside gave the musicians a hearty round of applause, the orchestra began a hauntingly beautiful waltz.

Sherlock turned to his young friend and gave an exaggerated bow, "May I have this dance?"

With a giggle, Claudette nodded and took her "Uncle's" offered hand. They began to dance a simple, yet elegant waltz.

* * *

John was enjoying himself. He had finished speaking with the three Detective Inspectors and danced four separate dances before going to find Sherlock. He was sure that he'd find his flatmate brooding in a corner somewhere.

He drew close to the balcony. Gazing out the door, hoping to find his flatmate, John found something that both astounded him and warmed his heart.

Dancing with a little girl in a golden dress was his 'heartless' best friend. The best part of it was that Sherlock had the on biggest smile that John had ever seen on the man. For once, Sherlock looked joyful because he was making the evening better for someone who understood him.

With a small smile, John left the two dancing figures alone and returned to the bustle of the party.

* * *

**I've decided that I'm going to let you finish this chapter. Should anyone else stumble across Sherlock and Claudette while they're dancing? Should the ambassador talk to Sherlock or John or both? What else could happen? I need your thoughts, my wonderful reviewers! Thank you all so much for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Lots of y'all wanted people to stumble upon Sherlock dancing with Claudette. Who am I to refuse? I own nothing. Enjoy!**

* * *

John moved away from the balcony with a smile on his face. Sherlock had found someone who understood him and from the looks of it, he was enjoying being Claudette's uncle.

"Oi, John!"

The doctor was pulled from his thoughts and turned to see DI Lestrade waving him over.

"John! Have you found Sherlock yet?" Lestrade smiled at his friend.

John nodded, "Oh, I found him alright."

Lestrade's eyebrows knit together, "What do you mean?"

"Sherlock is dancing out on the balcony," John pointed over his shoulder with his thumb.

* * *

Sgt. Donovan clutched Anderson's arm from where the two stood a little ways away from Lestrade. Their DI was speaking to John Watson, or as the two privately referred to him as, the Freak's little pet.

Sally turned to Anderson and whispered, "I wonder where the Freak is?"

Anderson smirked, "Probably hiding in some dark corner, brooding about how boring the dance is without any dead bodies.

Sally nodded and smoothed out the wrinkles in the skirt of her evergreen evening dress before looking up just in time to see Lestrade gesturing for them with wide eyes. Next to him, DI Carter and DI Dimmock spoke to each other in hushed tones, bewildered amusement on their faces.

The woman looked up at her date for the evening and the two shrugged. Anderson escorted his girlfriend to their superiors, who were now giving slightly hysterical giggles of disbelief.

As the two entered earshot, Lestrade grinned like the Cheshire Cat, "You'll never believe what John Watson just told me."

* * *

The American ambassador, Rufus, and his wife swept through the crowd. Georgiana looked radiant in her long, silk dress. It was the color of the nighttime sky, a perfect match for her eyes.

As the couple neared a small group of women, Rufus reluctantly parted with his wife.

"Come now, Rufus," Georgiana said, placing a kiss on his cheek. "Mingle! Greet some of out guests."

Noting the still uncomfortable look on her husband's face, Georgiana thought of a new task.

"If all else fails, check on the children."

Georgiana then pulled away from her loving husband, and the ambassador set off towards the balcony, where he knew he would find his daughter.

Rufus paused as he saw a blonde man walking away from the glass-paneled doors that led to the cool night air. For a moment, he was worried for his little girl. His two children had been kidnapped only a few weeks prior.

His worry was cured when he noticed the smile on the other man's face. Rufus was taken by an undeniable curiosity.

The ambassador slid quietly towards the open doors and glanced out at night sky.

His eyes fell on the two figures that twirled under the stars.

It was his little girl dancing with the young man who had saved Rufus's children and soothed Claudette's panic attack. Sherlock Holmes. Richard felt a small smile grow on his face as he watched the detective spin the usually shy girl around.

As a giggle escaped the girl, Rufus felt his eyes fill with tears. Claudette had been allowed to attend the boarding school with Max in hopes that she would develop more social skills and confidence. She had been so quiet over the last few weeks that her family had begun to worry.

She had only spoken when she talked to Sherlock over the phone.

Rufus wandered off to find his son, his mind tumbling with thoughts on how happy his little girl was.

* * *

Lestrade, Anderson and Sally walked quickly towards the balcony. The orchestra was now playing Contra-Dance No.1* and everyone was dancing a classic minuet.

The three stepped out into the cold night air, only to freeze at the inconceivable** sight in front of them.

Sherlock was holding hands with the small girl that the Yard had rescued. The kidnapping victim, Claudette. The two were dancing to the playful rhythm of the music, Claudette twirling under Sherlock's arm.

The group was shocked by the skill and elegance behind the dance. It was both sophisticated and cheerful, sending the dancers bouncing and flowing as the pair expertly wove their way through the dance.

On the more playful steps of the dance, Claudette would give a little laugh. It was like twinkling bells, and every time she laughed, Sherlock joined in with her.

The three, realizing that they were intruding on a magical moment for both Claudette and Sherlock, backed into the ballroom. They were all shell-shocked. Sherlock had danced, smiled, acted kindly towards a little girl and even laughed! That was a bit too much for the group to process for one night.

* * *

*** - A lively, bouncy dance written by Beethoven. Written in 2/4.**

**** - I love the Princess Bride, don't you? **

**Thank you all for your suggestions! I love reading your reviews. They warm this little heart of mine. Do you want me to continue this scene? Thank you all for reading!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Okay, wow. I just got flooded with reviews (I'm not complaining!) from The Deductionist. Great name, by the way. I'm sorry for leaving Mycroft out for so long! I've got a special plan for him in this chapter. I'm so glad that all you guys are enjoying my writing. **

**Now, onto the next chapter! I own nothing. Enjoy!**

* * *

Mycroft Holmes casually spoke with a colleague of his in the far corner of the ballroom. The ambassador was a dear 'friend' of his because of Rufus' above average level of intelligence. Well, high for a goldfish.

The man Mycroft spoke to was giving him the last details for the Kor- ah, but you don't need to know that. Anthea, or Rose, her name of the day, typed stealthily on her blackberry for her boss. Mycroft knew that Anthea would take care of everything as soon as she was given all the information.

The man finished his talk and bade Mycroft a curt goodbye. As soon as his colleague was out of earshot, Mycroft let a sigh escape his mouth.

What a horribly tedious man.

"Mycroft!" A voice from behind him called. Mycroft knew automatically that it was Rufus and turned to greet his host.

"Rufus, I must thank you for your generous hospitality."

"No indeed. And you must thank your brother for me. I've not seen Claudette this open in years."

Mycroft knew that Rufus was well aware of the Holmes's powers of deduction. Mycroft merely needed to glance at the man to know exactly to what he was referring.

"Indeed, I will. My brother has found a very unlikely friend in your daughter. Which, believe me, is saying something. Sherlock doesn't have many friends."

Out of the corner of his eye, Mycroft could see three figure backing away from the doors to the balcony. He was able to identify them quite easily. He'd had run-ins with Lestrade every so often and often observed him with Sherlock via the CCTV.

The other two were much less welcome guests within his field of vision. Sally Donovan and Phillip Anderson were two things that made Sherlock's already difficult life just that much worse. Watching your little brother be called a 'Freak' most of your life made you aggressive towards anyone who so much as uttered the word.

Knowing full well what had caused the group their shock, Mycroft politely and tactfully excused himself to deal with the business that was the gossip of New Scotland Yard.

* * *

Stunned, the three stood in silence. Who knew Sherlock had a heart? He had been nice to the girl before, that was true, but Sally had assumed that it was out of pity or to get information out of the stunned child. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he wasn't such a freak after all. Maybe...

He thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a man with a confident stride and an umbrella clutched in one hand.

He seemed oddly familiar.

"Ah, Detective Inspector. It is lovely to see you again," the man gave Lestrade a smile that was impossible to label as fake or genuine.

Lestrade shook off his shock for a moment, "Same here, Mycroft. I didn't know that you were attending."

Mycroft shrugged casually, "Rufus and I go way back. Now," the man turned to look at Sally and Anderson both. He smiled in a way that looked kind, yet still managed to give you the shivers.

"I must speak to you about what you just saw."

Sally and Anderson looked at each other. What did Sherlock do to warrant _this_ frightening man's attention?

Anderson hesitantly responded, "Um, sure. That sounds...good."

Mycroft nodded, either brushing off Anderson's concern or not noticing it. Sally was inclined to believe that it was the latter.

The man led them off to a separate room. It was just as elegant as the ballroom, but had a distinctly different atmosphere. Mycroft sat on one of the maroon settees with a relaxed, yet straight posture.

Lestrade, Sally and Anderson sat on the seat opposite from Mycroft. As Sally gazed at the man sitting across from her, she was suddenly glad that a small table stood between them.

"Now, if I am correct, and I know that I am," Mycroft began. His confidence did not sound at all arrogant, but self-assured. It was as if Mycroft knew that he was a genius and was merely stating the fact.

"You three just witnessed a very personal side of Sherlock Holmes. He hardly ever exhibits it. That is mainly because the last time Sherlock ignored my advice, well, things turned out badly."

Anderson looked confused, "Advice?"

"To anyone with Sherlock's personality, caring is not an advantage. The last time he showed his feelings for someone, he made quite a scene. I can't fault him for his attachment, though. Red beard was a lovely dog."

Sally blinked, a smile trying to creep its way onto her face. It was a bit cute to imagine a mini Sherlock hugging a puppy.

"I'd very much appreciate it if you did not antagonize Sherlock. You never know when he might have a meltdown, and I'd like to avoid the tedious business of finding him a competent and willing physiatrist."

Anderson looked even more confused, "How do you know so much about the-uh, Sherlock?"

Sally realized that her boyfriend was right. How did this man know so much about the Freak?

Mycroft gave them that unintentionally creepy smile again as he stood and walked to the door.

"Brothers should know these things about each other. Even if they have a rift such as ours," Mycroft smoothly opened the door for them.

"Good night."

* * *

As the ball drew to a close, John wandered through the groups of people. Sherlock was probably still outside. The trick was somehow getting there.

"Excuse me, sorry," John murmured as he wove through everyone.

He was almost to the doors when he ran into someone.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," they cried grabbing him by the arm to prevent a fall. John looked up at his savior and was entranced.

He had run into a young woman in a lavender evening dress, with short, blonde hair that fell in waves behind her ears. Her eyes were a mix of blue and grey that made it impossible to identify the exact shade.

John shook himself out of his thoughts, "No, it's fine. More than fine actually." He extended a hand, "John Watson."

She shyly accepted the handshake, "Mary Morstan."

* * *

**Boom. I just went there. An alternative to Reichenbach Falls. This was originally intended to be a oneshot. Your support has kept me going all this time.**

**I will start a new fanfiction soon, dedicated solely to head cannons and prompts. As soon as I post it, you guys can offer prompts, and I'll do my best to fulfill them. I'll also extend select oneshots if you guys want me to.**

**I love you guys. Thank you so much for reading!**

**~Phil the Squirrel**


	8. Chapter 8

**I'm back! I fell into some plot-holes along the road to this upload. As I said before, this story was never meant to be a multi-chapter fanfiction. I have continued this story solely because you all loved it so much. Thank you all for your support. I love writing for you guys, so hearing your enjoyment makes me smile.**

**I own nothing.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Molly was finally working with Sherlock and John again. She was glad, despite the fact that it was well after midnight and they were the only ones left in the morgue. All of the lights had been switched off, save for the ones in the hall and the small bulb that illuminated Sherlock's workspace.

Right after the fiasco with the kidnapping case, Molly had caught a rather nasty cold and had taken some time off. It had been nice to have a break, however brief and miserable, but she had developed a sort of Cabin Fever. Being dragged into another case with the duo was the perfect way to work off the jitters of being stuck at home.

She was finishing an autopsy report as John filled her in on what she had missed during her absence. Molly repositioned herself so that she leaned against the table behind her and glanced up as John enthusiastically described the events at the Ambassador's ball.

"It was a really wonderful party. I think the highlight was seeing Sherlock dance," John chuckled under his breath, as if enjoying a private joke.

Molly bit her lip. The first question that popped into her mind was 'Sherlock can dance?' This thought was quickly replaced by another, more jealous thought.

'Who was he dancing with?'

Sherlock made a grunt from where he was hunched over a microscope. He was observing a small drop of poison that had been used on two people so far. Their autopsies had revealed only what he could already deduce. It was frustrating how his hard work on this case had turned up nothing.

"What was that?" Molly asked as Sherlock leaned back from the microscope.

Sherlock took a deep breath as his thoughts wandered from the case to the little girl whom he had befriended. Claudette was a wonderful child, just like he was at that age.

Well, aside from the friendship with her brother and obvious gender difference.

"Claudette was a wonderful dancer for a seven-year-old," Sherlock scribbled a note about the property of the poison onto a small notepad that lay out on the table.

Molly's jealousy vanished and was replaced by a little warmth that sat right in the center of her chest. The thought of Sherlock dancing, with a little girl no less, brought the smallest traces of a smile to Molly Hooper's lips. She pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh as she imagined what the others must've thought.

"Tell me about Claudette," Molly sorted away her papers.

John turned to glance at Sherlock, taking his friend's silence as a cue to respond to Molly.

"She's an adorable little girl. She and her brother were the kidnapping victims a few weeks ago. She's taken quite the shine to Sherlock," John pressed the back of his hand to his mouth in an attempt to stifle a yawn.

"Has she?" Molly spared a glance at the silent man they spoke of. Sherlock had taken a blank, yet strangely focused, expression. It was obvious that he had entered his mind palace and would not be returning to reality for some time.

John an exhausted sigh before giving another yawn. Molly looked at the doctor in concern, "Maybe you should go get some sleep. You look like you need it."

John looked tempted, but reluctantly said, "Are you sure? That would mean leaving you to handle-"

"I've got it covered," Molly quirked her head to the side and gave him a mischievous smile.

"Besides, don't you have a date tomorrow?"

John turned beet red. John and Mary had been on two dates so far, but Molly could tell that they were a perfect match. Mary not only worked at the same clinic as John, but was just as patient, loyal, kind and gentle as him. She was anything but a pushover, though.

She had even won over Sherlock's approval. Molly felt as if she should've given Mary a medal when Sherlock had actually remembered her name right.

John looked grateful as he left the room. Silence took over as Molly drifted over to Sherlock. Looking over his shoulder, she was able to spot what he had been so confused about. The poison, a refined chemical compound developed from cocaine, had been administered at a non-lethal dose.

And yet, the toxin had managed to kill two completely healthy individuals. Quite a puzzle.

Molly rubbed her hand along her neck as she frowned down at the chemical compounds. They looked familiar to her. It was right along the tip of her tongue.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the screeching horror that was the fire alarm. She took a startled step back at the noise, which was a surprisingly good idea.

Sherlock was jerked out of his mind palace, feeling as if he had been hit by a car. Upon entering reality, Sherlock came to the conclusion that a car would have been welcome in comparison to the assault that was being made on his ears.

He crashed off of his stool as the ringing overloaded her mind. Molly had only just missed getting hit by one of Sherlock's arms as he fell.

For a moment, Molly just stood there and let shock take over her body. Sherlock had pressed his trembling hands to his ears, his head shaking back and forth. He was curled up on the ground like a child, and Molly could just make out Sherlock's muffled words over the sound of the alarm.

"No, please. Please make it stop. Please!"

Molly's training as a doctor snapped her out of her shock as she knelt next to the detective and slid one arm around his back. Embarrassment bubbled up at the nape of her neck, but she pushed it back down. Saving Sherlock from hyperventilating and burning to death, if the fire alarm had alerted them correctly, was much more important than her pride.

With her free hand, Molly pulled Sherlock's hand away from his ear and pried two fingers away from the fist that he had created. She pressed the fingers to her own wrist, right where her pulse was, a muffled echo of her heartbeat.

With a sudden burst of courage, thanks to the adrenaline, Molly raised her hand from where it rested on Sherlock's back to stroke his messy curls. He seemed so vulnerable and frightened that it was almost heartbreaking.

"Come on, Sherlock. You can do this. Breathe for me. I'm going to get you out of here," she murmured gently to him as she helped the man to his feet.

His breathing was still quick and erratic, but it seemed that Sherlock was fit to move out of harm's way. Gently, Molly guided Sherlock into the hallway and to the safety of the outdoors.

* * *

Lestrade pulled up next to St. Bart's and stifled a cry of shock as he took in the scene that awaited him. Flames now leapt out of the scorched and blacked building, flooding the street with light despite the late hour. The usually bare street that ran past the hospital was now filled with patients that had escaped the flames.

From the passenger's seat, Sally's mutter of "Holy-" brought Lestrade back to the present. He flung himself from the car and raced to the paramedics, who were treating several people for burns.

Firefighters sprayed water at the flames, struggling to take control of the blaze.

The words poured from Lestrade as he made eye contact with one of the doctors who had been in the room when the fire broke out.

"How many-?"

Lestrade didn't need to finish his question. His implications were clear.

_How many were dead?_

* * *

John dashed up to the police line, not bothering to wait for clearance, and ran towards Lestrade. The explosion that had followed the flames had been enough of an alert for John and Mrs. Hudson to know what had happened.

Lestrade had his eyebrows furrowed as he stared down at the man he was with. Sally stood next to her DI, reciting routine questions that came with arson cases. The doctor was quite insistent; the explosion had been no accident.

"Lestrade," John called as he slowed his run to a jog. He paused a moment to catch his breath and the DI signaled for Sally to continue without him.

"I saw, well heard, the explosion. Sherlock and Molly! Are they-"

Lestrade's eyes widened upon learning that the two gifted young adults had been present at the time of the incident. He and John instantly set out among the frightened mix of doctors and patients, calling for two people.

The two men did know one thing. If either of their missing friends were hurt, they would never be able to forgive themselves.

* * *

Molly sat on the ground, her lab coat bunched up in her lap. She sat perpendicular to the charred remains of Bart's as she held Sherlock's unconscious form in her lap.

Sherlock had somehow managed to focus long enough to get to safety, with the a great deal of Molly's support, before promptly passing out from exhaustion and fatigue that his panic attack had triggered.

Thankfully, Molly had been there to catch the detective before he could hit the ground. After being quickly looked over by the paramedics, Molly been assisted by a fellow doctor in carrying Sherlock's limp form away from danger and the chaos of the emergency responders.

Sherlock's head lay in Molly's lap and she took the opportunity to stroke the detective's dark curls once more. Molly had already figured out the cause of Sherlock's panic attack and why Sherlock had even had a panic attack when she heard the sound of her name.

"Molly?"

"Molly!"

"Sherlock?"

"Please be alright!"

Molly cupped her hands around her mouth, "Over here!"

In the moments following her response, two distinct figures entered her vision. Lestrade and John wore similar expressions of both relief and fright.

These expressions soon converted to shock and configuration at the sight of Sherlock Holmes lying with his head in Molly Hooper's lap.

And frankly, Molly wasn't surprised.

"Panic attack," Molly delicately explained as John knelt next to his flatmate. Two fingers quickly took in Sherlock's pulse. Lestrade looked up at Molly, his eyes silently asking for her take on what happened.

"When the fire alarm went off, Sherlock was in his mind palace. Without any warning about the stimuli, Sherlock triggered," Molly said. "We were just leaving through the nurse's exit when the actual bomb went off."

Lestrade looked up at her, a little taken back, "So you think it was a bomb then?"

Molly nodded, "You suspect a gas leak, don't you? I've seen what different explosions look like, and I'm telling you that this was 100% on purpose."

Throughout the whole exchange, John sat with his eyes glued to his best friend, silently willing him to wake up. In all honesty, it was scary to see Sherlock like this. A snarky Sherlock beat an unconscious Sherlock any day.

* * *

**To be continued...**

**I left out Molly for a while because she caught a cold (poor Molly) and now you see why I left out Moriarty for so long. He was planning this. Also, I'm still following the framed Sherlock plot line, but I'm making Anderson and ?Sally act much more sympathetic.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello everyone! I've got some announcements for you guys.**

**#1 I'm focusing most of my energy onto this story right now, so don't expect much from my other stories for a while. **

**#2 My uploads are still random.**

**#3 I'll keep the Sherlolly to a minimum. Just small undertones...**

**Now, onto the story! I own nothing. Enjoy!**

* * *

Sally Donovan quickly wove through the hoards of people, attempting to locate her DI. He had spoken a few words to John before they had both split up, calling for the Freak and that mousy little pathologist.

What was her name? Millie, Morgan, Molly?

Yeah, that was it. Molly, the girl with the annoying crush on Sherlock. Other than that, she was delightful. Sally hoped that she was alright.

She finally located Lestrade and John. She was pleased to see Molly with them, virtually unharmed, albeit distressed. They were hunched over something that lay hidden from Sally's view.

The Sargent drew closer to the scene, then stopped dead. Yet again, Sally was shocked (for what, the _fourth_ time this week!?).

Lestrade and John were hunched over the unconscious form of Sherlock Holmes. The detective's head lay in Molly's lap and his face was no longer contorted in a sneer or scowl. He looked...peaceful. Sally felt a little tremor of doubt in the back of her head, right where she stored her hate for the Freak. She barely noticed it as the three alert adults acknowledged her presence.

Sally shook off her shock and slipped back into her professional facade. Kneeling next to the three conscious adults, Sally asked, "What happened?"

She could barely make out John's murmur, "A panic attack happened."

Lestrade looked up at Sally with a serious expression, "Sherlock suffered a panic attack in the morgue when the fire alarm went off. It's part of his Aspergers." He looked up at John for confirmation.

John nodded and turned his attention back to his flatmate. Molly also appeared to be preoccupied, brushing Sherlock's curls out of his face with a concerned expression.

Sally gave a quick nod and stood, "We've interrogated some of the witnesses. We have enough evidence to confirm that this was the result of a bomb, not a gas leak."

Lestrade stood up as well with a grim expression, "It's the Great Game all over again."

Sally shook her head, "No, this didn't happen because someone wanted the Fr-"

Sally caught herself and barely avoided three angry glares, "Sherlock's attention. This was aimed to kill."

Molly's head popped up at the words. Sally noticed that her eyes were puffy, and dried tear tracks made their way down her cheeks.

"Why would someone do this?"

"Moriarty," John darkly accused the maniac.

"Let's hope not. It could be anyone," Lestrade looked unsure of his own words. Clearing his throat, the DI stood, "We will find out who did this. I'll make sure of that."

Lestrade gave the two crouching figures a curt nod, one that swore that he would remain true to his words, and turned on his heel.

"Don't worry. This won't happen again," Sally gave the two one quick smile before following after Lestrade.

John and Molly shared a look, a little surprised by Sally's support, and looked back at Sherlock. The man was beginning to stir, so Molly gently lifted Sherlock's head and shifted so that he lay with his head resting on his coat. Sherlock would never know how Molly had acted during those past several minutes.

Until John told him the next day, that is.

* * *

**There you go. I'm typing this after a really busy day and I'm super tired. So, sorry if it's kinda bad. Thank you all for reading!**


	10. Chapter 10

**I am back! I needed a little character development, so Claudette's back too. This was hard to write, believe me. Onto the chapter. I own nothing. Enjoy!**

* * *

John was really starting to get tired of getting abducted by Mycroft.

However, he was not so tired of being dropped off at Buckingham Palace after these abductions.

Mycroft met them in the same sitting room as before, accompanied by the American Ambassador.

"Ah, Mr. Holmes. So good to see you again," Rufus leaned over and gave Sherlock's hand a firm shake.

"Oh, Sherlock, please, Ambassador," Sherlock gave the man a disarming smile. Rufus nodded, "Well in that case, it's Rufus. Ambassador sounds too formal."

He quickly greeted John and they sat down to talk.

"I'll cut to the chase," Rufus rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. "My wife and I have been called away. I need someone to look after Claudette and Max."

John glanced at his flatmate, who had taken his trademarked pose, his fingers steepled together under his chin. Sherlock urged him to continue, "Yes, and?"

The man gave a small sigh, "They have always been rather uncomfortable with any nannies we employ. And to be honest, we're reluctant to leave the children with just anyone."

John knew where this was going, but asked anyway, "What does this have to do with us?"

Mycroft gave them an obsequious smile, "Well, you aren't "just anyone", are you?"

John glanced over at his flatmate, expecting Sherlock to look uncomfortable. Sherlock was poker faced as he responded to the implied questions, "We'll do it."

John gaped at the man, "We will?"

Rufus smiled widely, "Wonderful!"

The four men stood and shook hands, prepared to leave. John faked a smile to cover his shock and anxiety over being stuck with babysitting duties.

His reaction once they were back at the flat was a different story.

* * *

"What are you thinking?!

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John from where he lay on the couch, "You're being quite over dramatic, John."

John gave a giddy chuckle, "Overdramatic? We're going to be looking after two kids who aren't even ten yet." He waved his arm at the kitchen table, which was still covered by Sherlock's experiments, "Our flat isn't exactly kid-proofed."

Sherlock leapt off of the sofa, "You forget that we have two days to get ready, and they are staying for three days. I think we can handle it, don't you?" Sherlock turned away from his flatmate and leaned against the window pane.

John shook his head, momentarily at a loss for words, "No! I don't think we can handle it! Where will they sleep? What will we do with them?"

Sherlock smugly cast a glance over his shoulder, "They can sleep on the couch. And, to answer your alarmingly phrased question, I was hoping to employ Molly's help in this."

John gawked, "You, Sherlock Holmes, are going to Molly for help?"

Sherlock turned from the window, a confused expression on his face, "Is that really so shocking?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

* * *

**So, that's that. Sorry for uploading so late. Thanks for reading!**


	11. Chapter 11

**New chapter! Before I get to that, I want to thank all of my wonderful reviewers. Your input means so much to me and, as I've said before, your support is what keeps this story rolling. Also, a big thank you goes to TheDeductionist. Your constant support warms my heart and motivates me to keep posting. I thank y'all so much!**

**I own nothing.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Molly pulled the gloves off of her fingers with a sigh. It was way past midnight and she was exhausted. All she needed now was for Sherlock to swing in asking for a body.

On second thought, he probably wouldn't even come himself. He'd probably text-

Molly's thoughts were cut off by her phone going off.

"Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Even if the devil is breathtakingly handsome," she muttered as she reached for her phone. She quickly checked her texts.

**Can I ask a favor? - JW**

Well, it wasn't Sherlock. Eh, close enough.

Molly struggled to undo the buttons on her white coat as she texted back.

**What's the favor? - MH**

John's response was immediate.

**Help - JW**

Molly blinked at the message in bewilderment before another text appeared to clarify what he needed help with.

**Remember Claudette? - JW**

**Yes - MH **

**Sherlock and I are going to be taking care of her and her brother tomorrow - JW **

**For how long? - MH**

**Three days. Is it okay if we drop them with you if a case pops up? - JW**

Molly sighed as she shook her head. It wasn't a tired or an exasperated sigh, but a fond sigh. She had come to regard John as brother, despite how little they really knew about each other, and could practically see his sheepish expression.

**It's fine. Mind if I drop by the flat when they get there? - MH **

**Not at all. They arrive at 10am on Friday - JW**

Perfect timing. Molly had Friday, Saturday and Sunday off this week. She only had one more day of work, and that was tomorrow. Molly shrugged on her coat, then glanced at her watch and was reminded that today _was_ Thursday.

**Sounds good. See you then - MH**

Tucking her phone into the pocket of her coat, Molly strolled out of the morgue, knowing that if she got home soon, she'd get a few hours of sleep before having to return to Bart's.

* * *

Back at 221B, Mrs. Hudson was helping her boys straighten up in preparation for their house guests. It was around noon. John had refused to wake up their Mrs. Hudson in the middle of the night. He was later thanked profusely for by said landlady.

"Perhaps you should dispose of the eyeballs in the microwave, love," Mrs. Hudson called over her shoulder at Sherlock as she removed a knife from where it pinned a pile of envelopes to the fireplace.

"Don't worry, Mrs. H. I've got it," John hurried into the kitchen to clean out any and all body parts.

Sherlock entered the living room, clutching a box of nicotine patches in each hand.

"Hey, Sherlock? Where are we supposed to put these anyway?" John held up a clear plastic bag. Inside of the bag was an arm with a blueish tint.

Sherlock gave a noncommittal shrug, "How am I supposed to know? Put it in Mrs. Hudson's fridge or something!"

Mrs. Hudson made a squeak as she looked up in alarm. Sherlock waved off her worry, "Just have Molly take them."

John eyed the bag warily before returning to the kitchen. As Sherlock set the boxes in the box on the fireplace, Mrs. Hudson snuck a glance at him in a conspiring way.

"You've been thinking about Molly a lot recently, haven't you," Mrs. Hudson casually commented. Sherlock gave a little grunt in response. "I'm glad. She's a lovely girl. Is there something going on between the two of you?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he picked up his skull, "Please share no more of your unrealistic fantasies, Mrs. Hudson. As you know, I'm-"

John's voice cut in from the kitchen, "Married to your work. Yeah, yeah, we know." He appeared in the doorway, "But it wouldn't kill you to go on one date with her."

Sherlock remained silent, for once taking the tactful option, and refrained from pointing out all of the flaws in John's logic.

Mrs. Hudson ended the conversation, "Maybe we can discuss this more once this babysitting thing is over."

* * *

Mrs. Hudson flung open the door the moment Molly had knocked.

"Molly dear!" Mrs. Hudson engulfed the pathologist's small figure in a motherly hug. Molly smiled at the older woman as she was ushered into the building.

"The boys are expecting you. Go right on upstairs, love," Mrs. Hudson called as she disappeared into her kitchen. Molly caught a warm scent of cinnamon and bread as she climbed the stairs.

221B was almost impeccable. Molly gaped at how tidy the living room was as she set down her purse. Normally littered with case files and experiments, the only messy thing in the room was the heap where several small bags had been dumped on the floor by the couch.

Sherlock sat on the couch, his fingers laced together, staring intently at a small board in front of him. Next to him, John sat with his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand.

On the floor across from the flatmate's were two adorable children. The boy looked to be about nine, while his sister couldn't have been older than seven. They both had matching brown hair and eyes.

John looked up as she entered, "Cheers, Molly! Thanks for coming."

Sherlock and the children looked up at her, the boy with delight and the girl with a startled expression. Molly recognized the similarities between Sherlock and the girl, Claudette, immediately. He had worn that same expression in the lab when the alarm had gone off.

Molly was quick to disarm the alarmed child. Crouching on the floor next to the pair, Molly smiled, "Hello. You must be the famous Claudette and Max. I'm Molly."

Max's eyes grew wide, "You're the famous Molly? Wow, according to Uncle Sherlock, you're like a superhero!"

Molly started and felt her cheeks grow warm at the mention of Sherlock describing her in such a way. When she glanced at the consulting detective, she saw that his expression was unreadable.

His pink cheeks, on the other hand, told a different story.

Claudette blinked up at Molly. The little girl's innocent, doe-eyed expression was adorable and Molly resisted the urge to coo at the child.

After several minutes of analytical silence, Claudette seemed to deem Molly trustworthy. She climbed into Molly's lap and wrapped her thin arms around the stunned pathologist's neck, "Hello Aunt Molly. Have you come to play with us?"

"Yes, if you want me to," Molly stroked the girl's hair. Seemingly satisfied with the answer, Claudette buried her face in Molly's neck.

Molly shifted, Claudette still in her arms, so that she faced the table. A Monopoly board was spread out, covered in small game pieces.

Max clapped, "Good! Let's restart, then!"

He quickly cleaned the board as John protested, "But I was finally going to win!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Come now, John. You should know that you were winning because _they_ were letting you." He pointed at the children.

John turned to look at the accused. Max sheepishly shrugged. Claudette pulled away from Molly so that she could look at John and still cling, and blinked at him in mock innocence.

John grumbled as he sat back on the couch. He elbowed Sherlock, "You taught them that, didn't you?"

Sherlock made no reply, but gave the two children a rare smile.

* * *

**This is pretty bad, so I apologize. I procrastinated with this one and worked on it over a period of several days. I worked on it either really late or super early too. The next chapter will be better, I swear! Thanks for reading!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Hey y'all! I'm back with a new chapter. Note that this chapter is filled with Sherlolly fluff. Thank you all, once again, for your stellar support. I own nothing. Enjoy!**

* * *

As it turned out, Sherlock was not the only Monopoly expert at 221B Baker Street.

Molly more than proved her worth when she and Sherlock knocked their three opponents out of the game (John went long before Max and Claudette did) and became locked in a fierce battle that lasted until well after midnight.

Neither of them stopped for food, though John made sure that the children were fed, and they only paused when Claudette began to fall asleep in Molly's arms. The pathologist had carried the girl to Sherlock's room, covered Claudette with her jacket and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Long after the pair had been tucked in and John had passed out upstairs, Molly made the winning move and gave a silent fist pump.

"I win!" she squealed quietly.

Sherlock chuckled and whispered back, "Congrats, now help me put the game away."

Molly shook her head at him and flopped back on the couch, "No, I won. You get to clean it up."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "That is highly juvenile, Molly."

Molly grinned, "Yes, I know that."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but started putting the game back anyway.

Molly tucked her legs underneath her and leaned her head back against the wall behind her. She savor end the time here, knowing that she would have to excuse herself soon. She didn't realize that she had fallen asleep until she heard the dragging of wood along the floor.

Jerking into an upright position, Molly blinked to see Sherlock moving the table away from the couch, "What are you doing?"

Sherlock spared a glance up at her before leaning by the edge of the couch, "Giving you a place to sleep. It's too late to walk home and it's very difficult to catch a cab this time of night."Sherlock unfolded the footrest and the couch transformed into a small bed.

Molly attempted to fight down the blush she felt rising in her cheeks. Sherlock disappeared into the hallway for a moment, giving Molly some time to collect herself. When he reappeared, Sherlock was carrying a crocheted blanket and a pillow.

Molly shyly accepted the pillow when Sherlock handed it to her, "Thank you."

Sherlock sat next to her on the makeshift bed and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. Molly was suddenly aware that she had chosen to wear sweatpants and a tank top. Standing back up, Sherlock nodded at her, "Your welcome."

Sherlock gently picked up his violin and the room filled with the gentle tune of Arwen's Vigil*. Molly laid back, taking in the soothing notes and within minutes slipped into the realms of sleep.

* * *

John slid downstairs and slowly crept up to the door to the living room. He paused outside of the partially opened door, a bit surprised to hear a lullaby drifting from where Sherlock was assumably alone, probably thinking about a case. That meant Molly was probably gone already.

John glanced into the room and covered his mouth with a hand to stifle a shocked gasp. Sherlock was playing his violin, that wasn't a surprise. The surprise was Molly Hooper lying on the couch 'bed', curled up like a cat.

The music stopped suddenly. John looked up at his flatmate.

Sherlock placed his violin and bow in his case, then sat on the 'bed' next to Molly.

* * *

Sherlock brushed a stray lock of hair out of Molly's face.

"Goodnight Molly Hooper."

Sherlock pressed a kiss to the pathologist's forehead. Molly shifted in her sleep, a small smile on her face. A small smile worked it's way onto Sherlock's face as he stood and swept into his bedroom to check on the children.

* * *

***Arwen's Vigil is a beautiful original song by the Piano Guys. It's for the cello and piano, but I'm pretending that Sherlock rewrote it for the violin.**

**So, yeah! I needed to write that chapter. Hopefully, the rest won't be as fluffy, but I make no promises. After this, I'm adding some cases to lead up to the Fall. Yes, I'm going to write the Fall with Sherlock losing the opinion of the press, but I have a different method. Thank you for reading!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Sorry about the late update! If you didn't read my note, I had finals. I don't like school.**

**Finally! Another chapter. Even more Sherlolly fluff, much more Claudette and Max fluff. I own nothing. Enjoy!**

* * *

The first thing Molly was aware of upon waking was her face pressed against something soft. Her eyes fluttered open and she gently lifted her head to view what she had been leaning against.

Molly could barely hide her shock when she saw that she was pressed to the shoulder of Sherlock Holmes.

She was curled up sideways, legs tucked under her, leaning against his shoulder. Sherlock had his legs stretched out in front of him and was leaning back with his head laying at an angle on the soft back of the couch. His arm was wrapped around her shoulders and a blanket lay across both their laps. Both of them were more sitting than laying, using each other for support to stay in an upright position.

Molly sat like that for a few moments, wondering how to make the situation less embarrassing. She secretly felt a little thrill where her heart was at the thought of being held close by the man she had a desperate crush on.

Finally, she reached up and shook Sherlock's shoulder, "Sherlock."

The man made a little grumble and twisted so that his head rested on Molly's shoulder.

Stifling a giggle, she tried once again, raising her voice a bit above a whisper this time.

"Sherlock. Wake up, it's morning!"

Sherlock slowly blinked awake, his brilliantly blue eyes taking in his surroundings. Realizing whom he was leaning on, Sherlock sat up straight. His cherubic features displayed surprise as he turned to look at the pathologist sitting next to him.

Molly couldn't help but notice that Sherlock had not withdrawn his arm from where it was sprawled across her shoulders.

He cleared his throat, "Morning, Molly."

She smiled, "Morning. I'll make us some tea."

As Molly shifted to get up off the couch, she felt herself being held back by the arm around her shoulders. It was almost as if Sherlock didn't want her to leave.

She looked up at him expectantly. Sherlock blinked at her for a moment, then slowly withdrew his arm.

"Thank you," Molly said quietly. She walked to the kitchen, going through the cabinets in search of the tea.

She wasn't at all disturbed by the excess of body parts randomly strewn about the upper cabinets; she was used to seeing gore and death. She was a pathologist after all.

Sherlock stood and slipped to his chair.

A familiar voice interrupted the comfortable silence, "Morning!"

John strolled into the living room, apparently unaware that Molly was in the kitchen. Molly disregarded the fact and called out, "Morning John. Sleep well?"

John started, "Molly? Uh, yeah, I slept well. You?"

His blue eyes subconciously darted to Sherlock.

Molly missed the insinuation, "Mm-hm. The couch is surprisingly comfortable."

Sherlock smirked at Molly's vague truthfulness. She hadn't lied; she was horrible at lying. Twisting the truth was much simpler.

John sat at the counter, smiling as Molly slid him a cup of tea, "Thanks."

Molly hummed as she handed Sherlock his cup. He took it without a word, already looking at something on his phone.

They all sat quietly for a moment, then Molly walked to Sherlock's room, "I'll see if they're up."

* * *

Molly smiled down at the pair as she sat down on Sherlock's bed. Claudette was curled up against her brother's chest, smiling in her sleep. Max had his arm tucked around Claudette, pulling her to his body.

She took hold of Max's shoulder and gave it a little shake, "Hey, Max. It's time to get up."

The boy slowly blinked awake and smiled up at Molly.

Max turned to Claudette and gave her a little shake, "Claudy, time to wake up."

The girl sat up a little, glancing around the room, "Max? Mummy?"

Molly swollowed back the lump at the back of her throat at the confusion and reached out to Claudette, a watery smile gracing her face, "No, sweetie, it's Aunt Molly."

* * *

"So, Molly stayed over last night?"

Sherlock glanced up at his flatmate, but said nothing.

"I heard that lullaby."

There was no sound other than the tapping of fingers against a phone keyboard.

"That was really nice of you Sherlock."

Silence.

"Why did you do it?"

Sherlock set his phone down on the arm of the chair.

"It just felt right. I don't know why..."

John looked at him sympathetically, "Sentiment?"

"Sentiment," Sherlock agreed."

* * *

**Less fluff next chapter. We'll be leading up to the fall, so I hope you enjoyed the fluff.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Another chapter for y'all!**

**I'd like to give a shoutout to all of my wonderful reviewers really quick!**

**Thank you to Danira85, Ishtar1958, Icecat62, sherlocked453, 1bluesapphire, Deductions-of-Sherlolly, 221B, FandomNutter, Dead Hero, Phrontistery, rubydog358, Yangu Fuyu, Bunnyrabbit100, funkypanda, RoseJustice, and a real big hug goes to TheDeductionist!**

**Also, thank you to the various guests who have reviewed.**

**Also, to a certain guest or two (you know who you are!) I have a quick note. It really makes me happy to know that my writing connected with you. As an author, that is the thing you want to hear more than anything else...**

**Other than, "I'd like to option your book for a movie", but you know what I mean.**

**I own nothing.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Molly, John, Sherlock and the kids all sat together eating breakfast (in an unbelievably domestic looking scene) when the consulting detective stood and announced that he and Molly were heading out.

John choked a little on his tea and Molly looked confused.

"Another body came in this morning. It shows the same signs of acute toxicity as the ones that came in with the drug overdose last week," Sherlock threw on his Belstaff and scarf. Molly nodded warily, then looked over at the children. Claudette and Max looked up at the adults with obvious confusion.

Molly knelt in front of the two, "Would you like to stay here with John? Sherlock and I have to run to the morgue."

Max perked up, "Can we come?!"

Molly and John shared an alarmed look, then Molly shakily replied, "Yes..."

Claudette lit up with a bright smile and Max did a little fist pump.

Molly was now certain that Sherlock had corrupted those children.

* * *

It was surprisingly easy to smuggle two children into a room full of dead people.

Lestrade, Sally and Anderson were already waiting for them by the body. Lestrade merely raised an eyebrow at the children before shrugging it off.

On the other hand, Sally gave the children a once over before sneering at Sherlock, "Finally resorting to kidnapping, Freak?"

Claudette gasped and hid behind Molly, who placed a reassuring hand on her head.

"On the contrary, I am intrusted with their safety until their parents return," Sherlock smoothly replied as he and his companions surrounded the body.

"He's playing babysitter?" Anderson whispered to Sally. The two of them snickered.

Max looked at the dead woman curiously, noting the alarmingly pink color of her dress and shoes. She couldn't have been there very long; her clothes were still damp from collapsing in the rain.

John looked at the woman, wondering where he had seen her before, when he felt a tug on his sleeve. Staring up at him was Claudette. John knelt next to the seven-year-old, and she quietly told him, "I can't see."

John allowed himself a small smile and picked up the child, settling her on his hip. Lestrade, finally getting a good look at the child, managed to place her. The DI walked over to the little girl, "Oh, your names Claudette, isn't it?"

Claudette nodded and Lestrade continued, "I'm Greg Lestrade. I helped get you and your brother back from the bad man."

Claudette seemed to consider this for a moment, then stuck out her little hand for a shake, "Pleased to meet you, sir."

Molly internally cooed at the interaction as Lestrade shook her 'niece's' hand. Even Sherlock glanced up from his deductions to smile at the children.

The sweet moment was interrupted by Sally's horrified exclaimation, "Wait, you brought a traumatized child to look at a body?!"

Sherlock glared at the woman, "Believe it or not, they volunteered."

Sally threw her arms up in the air and turned away from the body, letting a disbelieving cry fall from her lips, "Great, more freaks!"

Max and Claudette flinched, no doubt having heard the term before, and Sherlock took a threatening step towards Sally, "Forgive me, but didn't you say yourself that these are two traumatized children. Yes, that is true, but they aren't nearly as traumatized by the kidnapping as they are by the constant threat of bullying they experience. Don't blame them that they're wise enough to prefer the company of a corpse rather than a living person. A corpse can't call you names."

Everyone froze up at Sherlock's speech except the detective himself, who returned to his examination of the woman.

Molly was snapped out of her shock as Sherlock called her to reality, "Molly, if you would please read the autopsy."

"Oh, yes! Of course!", Molly picked up the clipboard on the counter and read off the woman's information.

"The body has been identified as Rachel Wilson," Molly began. Sherlock and John looked up at each other in surprise, catching the connection.

"Do you think-" John glanced down at the woman.

"Yes, the killer meant for this," Sherlock looked up at Molly, "Go on."

"She's sixteen years old and was found in Lauriston Gardens by some other teenagers. Crime scene analysis shows that she was dead before she got there, and here's the photo."

Molly held out an image for Sherlock. As the detective took it, he offered Molly a small smile that only she could see. No one questioned the pathologist's blush.

Sherlock stared at the photo for a minute, then held it up for John to see. John set Claudette on the floor and stared at the picture in shock.

It was the woman, Rachel, lying flat on her stomach in the middle of an empty room. Her left hand was posed as if tracing something, and her pointer finger lay at the end of a word that had been carved into the floor.

_Rache._

"Were you the first responders?" Sherlock looked up at the three Yarders.

Lestrade's eyebrows furrowed as he replied, "No, it was Dimmock and his team. They passed the case over to me, something about it being more appropriate. Whatever that means..."

"Well, here's what it means," Sherlock held up the photo. The Yarder's jaws dropped.

Sherlock slid his hand into the pocket of Rachel's coat and withdrew his hand to find a damp newspaper. There was a photo circled on the front page. He looked up at his pathologist, "Molly, watch the children!"

Sherlock threw the paper down and gestured for John to follow, "I know who the next target is!"

"Wait a second! What-how did you find that out?" Lestrade protested as Sherlock and John fled the room.

"I'll text you the results George!"

The morgue was silent until Claudette innocently inquired, "I thought you said your name was Greg?"

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**


	15. Chapter 15

**I'm back!**

**Ok guys, I'm done being lazy. I could say that my aunt came to visit me, but that wouldn't mean anything, because she only bothers me when she needs me to put on a movie for her.**

**...Apparently, TVs are too hard for her to figure out.**

**I should probably cut her some slack. She's well into her eighties.**

**I own nothing.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Sherlock froze outside of a small alley, the same alley where he had found Jennifer Wilson's suitcase. It wasn't anything special. There was a dumpster pressed against one of the walls and the walls reeked of mold.

But Sherlock's attention was not aimed at the less than pleasant conditions. He was more focused on the body that lay at his feet.

Partially shielded by the walls of the buildings that stood parallel to the alley, a young man was collapsed on the ground, which was covered in a thin layer of sand. His dirty clothes were sprinkled in a white powder, not unlike that which Sherlock had dealt with in his younger days.

The unfortunate young man couldn't have been older than twenty-one. One hand, clenched in a fist due to rigor mortis, clutched a university cap. The other rested next to him, one finger extended towards the capital 'I' traced in the out-of-place sand.

And laying next to the body was an obnoxiously pink suitcase.

Sherlock barely registered the sound of John approaching him, huffing and complaining about Sherlock's speed. There was a sudden intake of breath as the civilian in John observed the dead body of an innocent man.

After a moment, John pulled out his mobile and called Lestrade.

Sherlock knelt next to the body, mentally jotting down observations.

The powder was obviously cocaine. Not only was the man coated in it, but displayed symptoms of addiction.

His clothes weren't in the best condition and his wallet was freshly emptied, implying that he had just bought more drugs upon his death.

There was no ID, but he would soon be identified thanks to the police.

Sherlock turned his attention to the hand that pressed against the ground. The victim was right handed (according to his watch), but his right hand had been used to write the message. His watch was beaten up and two days behind. It was just like-

...Ah, of course.

The watch was just like Sebastian's had been when they had met during "The Blind Banker". Unless John had put that bit of information in his blog (he hadn't), Moriarty had gained access to the bank's security cameras.

There was the familiar whine of police cars as Sherlock took a step back and joined John by the road.

* * *

The body, quickly identified as the missing student Brian Van Coon, was taken to St. Bart's as soon as Lestrade had given the go-ahead.

"Looks like we've got another serial killer," Sherlock muttered to John.

"And he's following a pattern," John noted. "'A Study in Pink', 'The Blind Banker'. What's next, the serial bombings?"

"We'll unfortunately have to wait and see," Sherlock muttered as Lestrade walked over to the pair.

"Well, another person dead. I'm beginning to wonder what our killer's motive is," Lestrade crossed his arms.

"We do know that he has a tendency to follow the style of our past cases," John supplied. Sherlock rolled his eyes at the need for repetition.

"How did you know to come here anyway?" Lestrade questioned the consulting detective.

"The newspaper said 'suitcase' on it. This is where I found the case. The odd thing is that I'm the only living person who knows about it," Sherlock turned his gaze to the alley, swarming with police.

From the police cars, Anderson and Sally shared a conspiritual glance.

* * *

**Bum bum bum! **

**I will update soon, I promise!**

**Thanks for reading and reviewing and being fabulous in general!**


	16. Chapter 16

**Another chapter, as promised.**

**But first, thank you to my new reviewers. As I've mentioned before, reviews light up my day.**

**Also, thank you to witchery9 for adding my fanfiction to her community. If you like reading about Sherlock having Asperger's and you haven't checked out her community yet, look it up. It's called Aspie!Sherlock.**

**I own nothing.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"If he is indeed following at pattern, his next victim should have a name that resembles one of those involved with the serial bombing," Sherlock remarked as he and John returned to the flat.

It had been hours since they fled St. Bart's. The police had insisted on keeping them for questioning.

Molly sat with the children on the couch, having been trying to teach them a card game. Looking up at the pair, she inquired, "What do you mean? What happened after you ran off?"

"There was another body," John informed her. "His name was a combination of the names of The Blind Banker's victims. We've got ourselves a serial killer."

"Yes," Sherlock agreed as he logged onto the computer.

John rolled his eyes. It was _his_ computer but there was no use telling Sherlock that.

"I'm compliling a list of people with a combination of the names from the serial bomber case. John, list off some of the victims for me while I pull this up."

John blinked, then stuttered, "Um, Mrs. Munkford, Ian Monkford, Connie Prince, Kenny Prince, um, Carl Powers..."

"Yes!" Sherlock leapt to his feet, "Here we go. Kenny Powers, reported missing two days ago. He's from Yorkshire."

There was the sound of a text alert. John pulled out his phone.

**Very good, Sherly. He lies where poor Westie was discovered. Oh me, oh my. Almost down solving my little puzzle. - A Friend**

John looked up and held out his mobile, "Sherlock, we've got a location."

Sherlock took the phone and glanced at the message, then grinned, "We're in the homestretch."

John glanced around the flat warily, "Uh, how did he know that we figured it out?"

Sherlock waved off his concern, "Your computer. It's not exactly heavily armed.

He shut the computer and walked hurridly towards the door. Claudette and Max looked up at Molly, confusion written on their faces. Molly hopped to her feet, her arms still wrapped around the children.

"Wait, Sherlock, what's going on?" Molly called out to the consulting detective.

Sherlock turned and walked over to them, still grinning, "We're in the homestretch. This could finally get Moriarty off the streets for good."

Sherlock leaned over, grabbed Molly's shoulders and kissed her forehead. He promptly turned and strolled out the door, leaving a shocked (and blushing) Molly, a bewildered John and two grinning children.

John quickly followed after his flatmate, leaving Molly and the children alone.

The pathologist flopped back onto the couch, one hand reaching up to touch the spot where Sherlock had kissed her. She felt a tug on her sleeve.

Claudette blinked up at her, then innocently asked, "Are you and Uncle Sherlock going to get married?"

Molly flushed a deep red as she sputtered, "Uh, n-no! Why would we - I mean - um."

Max snuggled into her side, "Mm-hm, sure you aren't. Mommy says that you only kiss someone when you love and care for them."

"We-well, he kisses Mrs. Hudson on the cheek," Molly weakly defended.

"She's like a mother to him. He cares for you," Max insisted. His sister nodded enthusiastically.

"I'm just a friend," Molly sighed.

Claudette crossed her arms, "You don't see him kissing John like that."

Molly looked between the two, "Alright. I've been in love with him for a while. He's never returned my feelings. And you two had better not tell him we had this conversation."

Max and Claudette nodded solemnly and Molly relaxed.

The siblings exchanged a glance. They were just dying to tell Sherlock now.

* * *

**Dramatic chapter! More action next time, I swear.**

**Also, sorry it was so short.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	17. Chapter 17

**I'm really sorry for the length and lack of action in the past chapters.**

**Also, sorry about the long absence. I've been busy getting ready for the new semester of school. **

**School means shopping. Shopping means crowds. Ergo, I've been having sensory overloads and nearly passing out/publicly bursting into tears. **

**Yeah, it's bad.**

**Anyway, thank you for your support and patience.**

**I own nothing.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

By the time Sherlock and John reached the railroads, Lestrade and his unit were already there. Poor Kenny Powers was found lying face-down on the tracks, soaking wet and wearing a security guard uniform.

Lestrade met them at the police tape, "You got the memo then?"

John furrowed his eyebrows, "Memo?"

"Yes." The DI held up a sealed plastic bag. Inside it was a post-it note with a quick message hastily scribbled down.

**Check the tracks, Detective Inspector. You've got a surprise awaiting you.**

**P.S. Karachi was wonderful. I must ask the Woman if she agrees...**

Upon reading the note, Sherlock tensed, straightening and inhaling sharply. He then nodded and swept over to the body, leaving a very confused and clueless pair in his wake.

* * *

Sherlock spent barely a minute looking at the body. There was almost nothing important about the body except for the continuation of the pattern.

After his quick examination, Sherlock retreated into his mind palace, muttering under his breath.

"So he knows...he's exposing all of this classified information...why?"

He didn't notice Sally hovering by his shoulder, listening to every word that escaped his lips.

"Those idiots won't ever figure it out...only I knew about the Woman...Who's next?"

Sally's eyes widened and she scurried away. High-functioning sociopath indeed. So Sherlock wasn't just a psychopath, but a murderer too.

Lestrade was definitely going to hear about this.

* * *

**So I apologized for writing short chapters, and then wrote an even shorter one? Seems legit.**

**Sorry if Sherlock seems a little OOC for letting his guard down. It needed to happen. The fall is going to happen!**

**I'll try to update sooner.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	18. Chapter 18

**This chapter is a collection of thoughts of different characters. A little fluff here, a little angst there, and a dash of build up scattered on top.**

** Sorry guys, but thy fall doth approach!**

**...Yeah, I feel rather Shakespearian today.**

**The Sherlock portion of this chapter is dedicated to Owllover123. I couldn't resist the puppy dog eyes! I hope it lives up to your expectations.**

**I own nothing.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

It was late, almost midnight, and Molly was worried. Even with both of the children sleeping in her arms, her thoughts never ceased their wandering.

John and Sherlock had seen a pattern. Not just any pattern, but one that was leading to Claudette and Max.

The pathologist suppressed a shudder as her arms tightened around her honorary niece and nephew. She knew that John and Sherlock were doing their best, but that girl with the silly crush that once believed every word that left Sherlock's mouth was overcome by something much more powerful. Something distinctly motherly.

If anyone tried to hurt her little ones, they would have to go through her.

* * *

John's emotions shifted between worry and befuddled concern.

He had only a vague sense of the situation: Moriarty was back, he could possibly attempt to harm the children, he was following a pattern.

But all of that didn't bother him. What he found concerning really revolved around two things.

1) Sherlock was more distracted than usual. John's flatmate was so caught up in the game of cat and mouse that he was unable to see that Moriarty wasn't his only problem.

2) Donovan and Anderson were up to something. They had been getting quieter, less rude, and were acting much, much more suspicious.

John noticed their fleeting glances. They reeked of a mixture of fear and disbelief. But there was something else there too.

Something about their body language gave a distinct yell of 'I told you so!' to anyone who cared to look hard enough.

And John was beginning to wonder how long it would be before the words left unspoken became verbal.

* * *

Sally was biding her time. All of the grudging respect she had built up for Sherlock over the past few days had fled her in the time it took to listen in on two muttered conversations.

Most, she supposed, would have found her lack of faith appalling. But then again, Sally had always been a pessimistic youth. And most people didn't know Sherlock.

She now had no doubt that he was the killer they were looking for.

Now all Sally had to do was present Lestrade with her evidence. She leaned back against the wall of glass that seperated Lestrade's office from the rest of the cubicles. Sherlock and John were still inside there, debating with the DI. Sally could've burst in at any time to acuse the Freak.

But Sally was smarter than Sherlock gave her credit for. So, for now, she would wait.

* * *

Sherlock was a mess.

Not on the outside, of course. If there was one thing he shared with Mycroft, it was the talent he possessed for masking his feelings.

No, his struggle was completely internal.

As he and John swiftly made their way out of Lestrade's office, Shelock was silent. His mind palace was flooded with outcomes and worries that he hadn't experienced in a long time.

He had never been so emotionally involved in a case, and it was starting to take a toll on him.

Sherlock returned to reality as a cab pulled up at the curb. He had to focus, or else things would end badly for everyone.

Easier said than done.

He sighed. He would feel better once he got back to the flat. Molly and the kids would be there.

Sherlock paused for a moment at the implications of his previous thought. It made the current situation sound very different than a friend helping him babysit.

And yet, Sherlock just couldn't stop the gentle smile from tugging at the corner of his mouth.

* * *

**Oh my gosh.**

** I just realized that the first story I ever posted (which was originally meant to be a one-shot) now has over fifty reviews and over forty favorites/follows!**

**Thank you so, so, so, so, so much!**

**I really love you guys. Hugs all around!**

**Thanks for reading!**


	19. Chapter 19

**This chapter is dedicated to Emrys Holmes. Thank you for your review. I'm glad that I can help you expand your metaphorical Sherlolly horizons.**

**Warning: Shameless Sherlolly fluff/Claudette and Max family fluff!**

**...and plot movement. **

**I own nothing.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

When Sherlock and John entered their flat, it was almost 2am. Sherlock was still running on adrenaline, but John was exhausted.

His eyelids heavy, John shuffled forward. All he wanted was to go to bed and, hopefully, get a few hours of sleep.

John bumped into something. Expecting it to be a piece of furniture, John glanced up. That's when he realized that he had bumped into his flatmate.

Grumbling under his breath about 'bothersome flatmates' and 'mind palaces' John scooted to the side to get to his room.

He missed the smile that decorated Sherlock's face and the sight of Molly with the ambassador's children.

* * *

Sherlock wasn't tired. He was used to working on very little sleep. It was therefore very hard to explain why Sherlock paused in the stairway, staring through the doorway at the three people sleeping on his couch.

Sherlock barely registered John, who slipped past him and slumped to his room. It was only when John closed his bedroom door that Sherlock returned to reality.

He barely had time to ask himself 'What am I doing?' before he walked over to where Molly and the children slept.

Sherlock gently reached over and shook Molly's shoulder. The pathologist shifted slightly, but didn't wake.

Sherlock bit his lip, then leaned over once more and whispered in her ear, "Molly."

"Hmm?" Molly mumbled tiredly. She blinked the sleep out of her eyes and looked up at Sherlock. Her expression went from surprised to confused to embarrassed in rapid succession.

"Oh, uh, Sherlock," Molly whispered. She looked down at children tucked in her arms.

Sherlock nodded at Max and Claudette, "We should get them to bed."

Molly nodded, "Uh, well, I can carry them-"

But Sherlock simply scooped the still sleeping Max into his arms and walked towards his room. Claudette was left with Molly, who sighed, picked up the little girl, and followed Sherlock.

* * *

Lestrade looked up at his officers incredulously, "You're serious about this?"

Sally and Anderson nodded solemnly.

Lestrade sighed and cradled his head in his hands, "I doubt that Sherlock has been setting us up like this."

"So you're ignoring a lead because it's the Freak?" Sally spat venomously at her superior.

Lestrade looked horrified, "No! It's because it's Sherlock bloody Holmes. He helps us with cases, insults our intelligence as a whole and leaves behind a deflated ego or two. He wouldn't do something like this."

Anderson scowled, "Nevertheless, it's our job to follow up on this anyway."

"He also has the ambassador's children in his care," Sally added.

Lestrade sighed, "I'll talk to the Chief Superintendent."

* * *

Molly pulled the blanket up to cover Max and Claudette. The pair were curled up fast asleep.

Just like she should've been at that time.

As if reading her thoughts, Sherlock rested a hand on her shoulder. Molly looked up questioningly.

"You should get to sleep," his deep monotone echoed in Molly's ears.

"Mm," she murmured in agreement.

"Come on," Sherlock took her hand and gently tugged Molly to her feet. The pathologist almost immediately fell over and would've hit the ground if not for Sherlock slipping his arm around her waist.

If Molly hadn't been so exhausted, she would've been bright red and mortified. But she was sleep deprived, so Molly didn't care at all when Sherlock slid his under her knees and carried her bridal style to the couch.

He gently set her down on the couch, not bothering to unfold it into a bed, and spread the same blanket from yesterday over her.

Sherlock quietly pulled his chair up beside the couch and leaned back to observe his pathologist. Molly had the most peaceful of smiles on her face and, for once, seemed at ease around Sherlock. With a start, he realized that Molly had always tensed up when he was around.

Guilt gnawed at his stomach. Causing Molly discomfort was the last thing he wanted. Sherlock brushed a hair out of her face and Molly sighed at the contact.

At that moment, Sherlock vowed to himself that he would protect her, no matter the cost.

That was when he heard the sirens.

* * *

**Cliffhanger! Sorry 'bout that (not really).**

**If any of you make fanart, I would love to see some for my story! Just PM me a link and I'll check it out.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	20. Chapter 20

**I'm back! Can you say 'more regular updates?' **

**Yeah, don't get used to it.**

**Hey Emrys Holmes, I can't wait to see any of your art! I also say that I may have made you feel special, but I couldn't have done that unless you were already special.**

**In fact, all you reviewers are special. If we were in the same room, I'd give y'all a big hug.**

**Speaking of reviews, we've reached sixty reviews! (Ok, so I made one of them myself because I was too lazy to log onto my account. Close enough.)**

**As a gift for so many reviews, there is a special Sherlolly moment in this chapter!**

**Moving on.**

**I own nothing.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Molly awoke to the sound of sirens. She sat up on the couch, glaring through sleepy eyes at the general direction of the noise.

"Molly, go to my room," a deep voice murmured by her ear. She looked up to see Sherlock. His eyes were directed towards the window and his face was etched with worry.

"Sherlock, what?"

"Please," Sherlock tugged Molly to her feet. The detective's gaze was now focused on her. "Stay with the children and don't do anything rash. Get them to their parents. They should be back by now."

Molly felt a distinct feeling of panic. Sherlock didn't say please. Sherlock didn't give warnings as if he wasn't going to be there unless...

"They're going to arrest you aren't they," Molly gasped. Everything snapped into place.

Sherlock didn't answer her question, opting to steer her towards the direction of his room, "I'll text you later. We're going to be fine."

Molly barely registered the desperate attempt at reassurance as she was given a light shove into Sherlock's room.

Just before Sherlock closed the door behind her, Molly shot out an arm and grabbed his thin wrist. The pair locked eyes for a moment and Molly quietly muttered, "Sherlock-"

Before she knew it, Sherlock had stepped forward, cupped her face, and gently pressed his lips to hers. Molly gave a little gasp at the warm sensation of his lips on hers. It took a moment for her to grasp the situation, but she found herself bringing a hand to the back of Sherlock's neck and returning the kiss.

It was over almost as soon as it began and Molly was left standing alone with two sleeping children and a tingling on her lips.

* * *

Sherlock closed the door and let out a breath. Kissing Molly had been foolhardy.

That didn't necessarily mean he regretted it.

He walked over to the coffee table and pulled on his belstaff. He wouldn't be coming back to Baker Street for a while.

The sirens grew louder and flashing lights joined them, lighting up the living room with red and blue. Sherlock looped his blue scarf around his neck and paused as he saw something out of the corner of his vision.

John's pistol.

* * *

John awoke to the sound of sirens. He sat up and blinked for a moment, regaining his senses.

The front door slammed, Mrs. Hudson shrieked, and footsteps echoed up the stairs.

John bolted from his room and entered the living room.

* * *

Sherlock was standing in the middle of the room when Lestrade entered. He didn't protest when the cuffs were clapped on his wrists or defend himself when he was read the accusations.

John watched in horror as his best friend was arrested.

Lestrade gave Sherlock a shove. John snapped out of his stupor.

"What's going on?" John demanded.

Lestrade made a sound of dismissal, "Later. Where are the ambassador's kids?"

John swallowed and allowed his eyes to dart to Sherlock. His flatmate subtly shook his head.

"They're with their parents," John told Lestrade. The DI looked suspicious, but turned to leave without pressing the issue. John remembered why Greg was here and stepped in front of the DI. Lestrade tried to step around the doctor.

"Wait! Do you have a warrant?" John asked, grabbing Lestrade's arm. The DI glared at John as he pulled his arm away.

"Close enough," he muttered as the Chief Superintendent entered the room. John felt his eyes go wide.

"So this is the chap," the man looked at Sherlock for a moment before signaling the officers to take him.

The Chief Superintendent took another step into the room, acting as if he owned the place, "A bit of a weirdo if you ask me. These vigilante types always are."

John saw red.

* * *

Molly sat watching over Claudette and Max. As the voices outside grew louder, their slumber became more restless.

The voices suddenly quieted at the crack of a punch.

Then they rose once more, becoming louder than ever.

Molly silently prayed that the two children would remain asleep.

* * *

Sherlock felt a thump against the car he was pressed against. A turn of his head revealed John slamming against the car next to Sherlock.

"Joining me?" Sherlock asked, his mind already weaving John into his escape plan.

"Apparently chinning the Chief Superintendent counts as assault," John remarked.

Sherlock allowed a smirk as he and John were handcuffed together, "Well this is awkward."

John warily glanced over at his friend, "That's not quite the word I would use for us both getting arrested."

"I was actually referring to our impending escape," Sherlock corrected.

A voice echoed over the police radio and Sherlock quickly reached over to press lthe 'Talk' button. A piercing shriek of feedback screamed through the air.

* * *

Molly didn't hear the feedback, but she heard the screams.

And, unfortunately, so did the kids.

Claudette and Max shot up in bed, eyes wide with fright and confusion at the sound of the screams from outside.

Molly was instantly between the pair, wrapping her arms around them and whispering soothing words in their ears.

Through her head ran a single thought.

_You had better be okay Sherlock._

* * *

John looked around at the chaos in shock as the nearby officers doubled over in pain.

His shock escalated as Sherlock pulled out a gun and aimed it at the Yarders that crouched in front of him.

And it wasn't just any gun.

It was John's.

"Ladies and gentlemen, will you please get on your knees?" Sherlock called out.

Lestrade looks up at Sherlock in an awed terror as he drops to the ground, "Do as he says!"

"Sherlock, what-" John was cut off as the cool metal of the gun pressed into his temple.

"He is my hostage," Sherlock announced.

John bit back a sigh and let his next thoughts flee his lips, "Yes, hostage, that works great."

* * *

Molly swiftly moved Claudette and Max to the living room, sitting them down on the couch and walking them through what was going to happen. She was going to get them to their parents and to safety.

"But you need to do exactly what I say, alright?" Molly stared intently at the children in front of her. They exchanged a glance and nodded solemnly.

Feeling convinced, Molly dashed to Sherlock's room and packed up Claudette and Max's things.

That was when she heard the tell-tale call of "Yoo-hoo!" from the stairway.

* * *

Sherlock and John dashed through alleys and vaulted over gates in their attempt to escape the police. When they finally slowed, they were standing by the back entrance to St. Bart's.

"So, what now?" John panted.

Sherlock shook his head, feeling a little winded himself.

"Molly's wrapping up a few loose ends. Give her some time, and we'll meet her here," Sherlock explained to John. His flatmate looked a little surprised, but nodded.

Sherlock felt sudden a buzzing in his pocket. He pulled out his phone and checked his texts.

**Sir Boast-a-lot finally got a taste of his own medicine. Or is it two tastes? Your move, Sherly - JM**

Sherlock's fists tightened around his phone as he sent a quick text to Molly.

**Meet us at Bart's. Lab - SH**

He almost immediately got a reply.

**Will do - MH**

Sherlock tucked his phone away and turned to look at John. Now they had to wait.

* * *

With Mrs. Hudson's help, getting the kids packed and sent on their way was simple. The elderly landlady assisted Molly in getting the children packed and ready to go.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," Molly smiled.

Mrs. Hudson waved a hand in the air, "Don't mention it, dear. I can stay with the children too."

Molly looked up at the older woman gratefully, "Could you?"

"Of course," Mrs. Hudson patted Molly's arm. "You're special to Sherlock. The least I can do is help you help him."

Molly blushed and prepared to deny Mrs. Hudson's claim, but thought better of it. He did kiss her only minutes earlier.

She settled for a flustered 'thank you', kissed Claudette and Max's heads, and ran out to call a cab.

* * *

**Long, long chapter. Also, sorry if it's bad. I wrote this on a full day of work and about six hours of sleep.**

**Sherlolly first kiss! What did you think? Should I write more kisses?**

**Thanks for reading!**


	21. Chapter 21

**Some more Claudette and Max. Well, mostly Claudette. She is the reason for this story's existence after all.**

**These next few updates are going to be posted one right after the other, so expect frequent updates.**

**I own nothing.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Claudette didn't know what to think.

First she was awoken by screams. That part hadn't been so bad; Aunt Molly had been there to prevent her from having an attack.

Then they were getting their stuff packed and being left in the care of that nice old lady who she and Max had seen on the first day of their stay with Sherlock. She had talked to Aunt Molly in hushed tones, then Aunt Molly had kissed them on the heads, said goodbye, and left.

The nice old lady had called their parents. Claudette could only hear snippets of the conversation, but she caught the words 'come fetch them' and 'big misunderstanding'.

Max had sat next to her the whole time, an arm wrapped around her shoulders and a warm cheek resting against her hairline. She was glad to have him for a big brother. He was always there for her, even when adults weren't.

But even so, she missed Mum and Daddy. She missed John with his awkward attempts at conversation. She missed Aunt Molly with her soothing words and safe hugs. And she missed Uncle Sherlock with his violin lullabies and empathetic kindness. She wanted to be with someone she could relate to once more.

For now, she would have to content herself with the fact that she was going home.

* * *

**Short and sweet.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	22. Chapter 22

**I'm back...and currently planning a sequel for this story. It won't be up until quite some time after this fic finishes, but it will be a Sherlolly post-fall fic.**

**I own nothing.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Sherlock managed to jimmy thier handcuffs in record time. He then frowned at the keycard scanner and keypad next to the door. That could take some time.

John took the opportunity to glance around. His attention wandered from the lamppost by the sidewalk to the lights shining in the hospital windows. A flash of color caught his eye.

A newspaper lay on the ground. It was brand new and an article was printed on the front.

_'Sherlock Holmes a Fraud!' _

John knelt and picked up the paper, staring at it in shock. A picture of Moriarty was printed next to the article and the author was one Kitty Riley.

John glanced back at Sherlock, who was still deducing the code on the keypad. He turned and skimmed through the article, noting a false name, details from Sherlock's past, and enough lies to completely annihilate Sherlock's reputation.

There was only one way Moriarty could've gotten all that information. John threw the newspaper back onto the ground as he growled. He began walking down the street, calling at Sherlock over his shoulder, "I'm going to check up on something."

He didn't wait for a response.

* * *

Sherlock was already in the lab by the time Molly made it to St. Bart's. The room was dark and Sherlock sat slouched against the far wall, nearly invisible in the light that tumbled into the room from the hall.

"Where's John?" Molly asked as soon as she had shut the door behind her. The lights remained off.

"Had to do something," Sherlock responded. He straightened and walked over to Molly, his tall figure towering over her petite form.

But for once, Molly didn't feel small standing in his shadow.

"You were wrong, you know."

Molly inhaled sharply as Sherlock's piercing gaze focused on her, "How so?"

"You've always counted and I've always trusted you," Sherlock admitted. He didn't seem at all embarrassed or affected by the statement. Molly, on the other hand, felt her heart flutter in her chest.

"You're also right," he continued. "I'm not fine."

"Talk to me," Molly gently encoraged his newfound openness towards her.

"I think I'm going to die."

Molly felt the world screech to a halt around her, but kept her cool, "What do you need?"

* * *

"So, you told him."

Mycroft sighed, wishing he had followed his gut rather than his schedule for once taken the day off.

"John..."

"No, that psychopath is attacking your brother, and you gave him what he needed to bring Sherlock to his knees."

"We had no choice!" Mycroft stood, his palms smacking his desk. John momentarily quieted, although he still glared murderously at Mycroft.

The British government sat down to rub away a migraine.

"How did you meet him?" John asked in a significantly calmer tone. Mycroft was usually fearless, but the quiet rage of the former Captain Watson was enough to make the most hardened of politicians nervous.

"People like him: we know them; we watch them..."

* * *

"You."

Molly stared up at Sherlock and he stared back.

"It will be dangerous, and I can't gruntee your safety," Sherlock added softly. Molly could swear she saw pain in the man's eyes.

And she knew what to do.

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**


	23. Chapter 23

**Another chapter closer to the fall...**

**I own nothing.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

John entered the lab to see Sherlock sitting on the floor, staring at the wall, and Molly nowhere in sight. His flatmate seemed to be lost in his mind palace.

For a moment, John just stood there, debating whether or not to enlighten Sherlock about the newspaper and deliver Mycroft's message.

"You've followed up on your lead then?"

John startled at his friend's monotone, "Yes. Yes I have."

"Hmm," Sherlock leapt to his feet and strolled to the window.

John hesitated, then blurted, "Sherlock, Kitty Riley has published an article calling you a fraud."

Sherlock looked up at him, "Is that so?" He didn't sound surprised, only sad.

"Yes. It should be on the Telly by now," John looked down at his shoes.

Sherlock sighed. He had expected something like this.

"Moriarty acted as her source under a false name. They claimed you hired struggling actor Richard Brook to play Moriarty," John added. "Does that mean anything to you?"

Sherlock's fists clenched. It was a taunt, just meant to get him riled up and flustered.

"If it did, we'd know by now," Sherlock responded. It was a lie, but Sherlock was a very good liar.

John rolled his eyes at his friend's ego and stepped forward. Sherlock sent a quick text, hiding his phone in his coat to prevent John from seeing it.

**Come and play. Bart's Hospital rooftop. -SH**

As an afterthought, he added:

**P.S. Got something of yours you might want back.**

John's phone rang, cutting through the humming silence of the lab. The man sighed and pulled out the device, answering the call.

Amd Sherlock looked over at him, waiting for the inevitable conversation the pair were about to have.

* * *

Mycroft sat in his office, thinking over his conversation with John and agreement with Sherlock.

He was about to help a man fake his death.

It could've been utterly ridiculous had it been anyone else, but this was Sherlock. The same Sherlock he had betrayed to retrieve information.

And Sherlock needed help.

Mycroft sighed and turned to his long-time assistant, "Anthea, I'm afraid you'll have to wait another week for your day off. I require your assistance."

Anthea smirked as she glanced up from her endless stream of emails, texts, phone calls and occasional Jane Austin novels (hey, a girl needs some breaks!) to meet her boss' gaze, "Of course, sir."

Time to make some phone calls.

* * *

"Paramedics. Mrs. Hudson's been shot," John's voice was broken and panicked.

Sherlock looked over at his flatmate, feigning surprise, "What? How?"

"Never mind that!" John snapped. Sherlock felt a lump in his throat at his friend's pain.

But unfortunately, it was necessary.

"Come on, let's go," John turned to leave.

"You go. I'm busy," Sherlock replied. He waved his hand in the air as John faced him, seething.

"Busy?" John asked incredulously. "You once half killed a man for laying a finger on her."

"She's my landlady," Sherlock shrugged as if his second mother meant nothing to him.

"She's dying..." John struggled for words, "You machine!"

Sherlock refrained from flinching. It wasn't the worst he had been called, but hearing something like that from John of all people hit him hard.

Sherlock's furious friend stormed towards the door, but caught the quietly murmured response, "Alone is what I have. Alone protects me."

John sneered, the expression unwelcome on his usually bright face, "Well, _friends_ protect me."

He left.

And Sherlock tried once again not to break.

His text alert sounded, and Sherlock knew the sender before he even read it.

**I'm waiting... -JM**

It was time.

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**


	24. Chapter 24

**I own nothing.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

The first things Sherlock noticed upon stepping out onto the roof of St. Bart's were the lovely weather and blasting music that perfectly described the madman he was meeting with.

Stayin' Alive. How ironic.

"Ah, here we are at last," Moriarty stood near the edge of the building, his phone held in one hand. "You and me, Sherlock, and our problem. The final problem."

Sheelock slowly walked to where the madman stood, drunk in his 'victory'. Moriarty waved his phone in the air, "Stayin' Alive! So boring, isn't it?"

He angrily stopped the music, and continued in a softer tone, "Just staying..."

His attention turned to Sherlock.

* * *

Molly was anxious. Sherlock had specifically placed her where she waited in the morgue, and for this plan to work, she had to be there.

But that didn't mean the plan could go wrong in other ways.

* * *

"All my life, I've been searching for distractions. You were the best one, and now I don't even have you," Moriarty took a triumphant step foreward. "Because I've beaten you."

"Richard Brook."

The corner of Moriarty's mouth twitched upwards in a smirk, "Yes, very good. No one else picked up on it. But you did."

* * *

Mycroft sat in his office sending out commands to his employees. They needed to get in place and have everything ready.

Sherlock would try to buy them some time, but there was only so much he could do.

They had only one shot at this.

* * *

In the end it was brilliant. Moriarty had made him think too hard, jump to the wrong conclusion. That was something no one else was able to do.

And Sherlock was about to pay dearly.

"Glad you chose a tall building. Great place to do it," Moriarty stated.

"Do it? Do what?" Sherlock paused in realization, "Ah, yes. My suicide."

* * *

John leapt out of his cab before it stopped. He bolted for 221 Baker Street, not even noticing that there were no ambulances parked on the curb.

He burst through the door, nearly bumping into someone standing by the doorway.

"Oh, you startled me!" Mrs. Hudson pressed a hand to her chest as she smiled fondly at him. John froze as she continued, "Did the police get it sorted with Sherlock?"

A man doing repairwork for the landlady looked down at John from his stepladder.

John swallowed thickly and dashed out the door, Mrs. Hudson calling after him.

And the assassin smiled to himself.

"Oh come on, just kill yourself. For me. Pleeeeease?" Moriarty squealed as Sherlock grabbed him by his coat and held him over the edge of the roof.

"You're insane," Sherlock growled.

Moriarty blinked, "You're just getting that now?"

Sherlock adjusted his his grip on the front of Moriarty's jacket, shaking him quite a bit in the process. Moriarty flailed his arms, making whooping noises, then returned his attention to Sherlock.

His eyes burned with a madness and his smile was humorless.

"I'll give you a little extra incentive. Your friends will die if you don't."

Sherlock released Moriarty and took a step back, staring at him in horror, "John."

"Everyone," Moriarty urged.

"Mrs. Hudson."

"Everyone," Moriarty repeated.

"Lestrade," Sherlock gasped.

"And as an added bonus," Moriarty continued, smugly circling Sherlock. "I'll throw two certain minors to the mix."

Sherlock stared at Moriarty in rage.

"I'll admit, that did take me by surprise," Moriarty came to a stop, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Oh well, more weaknesses for you I suppose. You jumping is the only thing that's going to call off the killers. I'm certainly not going to do it."

"Can I just have a moment?" Sherlock said, knowing he sounded broken, "Please."

"Of course," Moriarty relented.

Sherlock stepped towards the edge of the building, Moriarty's words running through his head. Ther had to be something, anything.

It clicked. Sherlock chuckled and turned around. Moriarty watched him in confusion and cried out, "What? What did I miss."

"'_You're_ not going to do it.' So there's some kind of recall word or number. I don't have to jump if I've got you."

Moriarty scoffed, "You think you can make me stop the order? Your big brother and all the King's horses couldn't get me to do a thing I didn't want to."

"Yes, but I'm not my brother," Sherlock replied. "I am prepared to burn; prepared to do what ordinary people wouldn't."

"No, you're on the side of the Angels," Moriarty protested.

"I may be on the side of the Angels, but don't think for a second I'm one of them," Sherlock's tone was ominous.

"No," Moriarty seemed to come to a realization. "You're not ordinary. You're like me."

Moriarty took Sherlock's hand, his voice becoming thick with emotion, "Thank you. Bless you. As long as I'm alive, you have a way out of it."

Sherlock's relief was short-lived.

"Well, good luck with that," Moriarty pulled Sherlock closer as he pulled out a gun, put the barrel in his mouth, and fired.

"No!" Sherlock cried out in surprise as the body of his nemesis dropped to the ground. Blood pooled from under Moriarty's head.

Sherlock gasped for air. He would have to jump after all.

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**


	25. Chapter 25

**The last chapter...**

**I can't believe it. Well, we've made it this far. No turning back now.**

**I own nothing.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Sherlock walked to the edge of the roof, mobile pressed to his ear. On the street below, John got out of his cab. The dial tone rang once, twice, then, "Hello?"

"John."

"Hey, Sherlock, you okay?"

"Turn around and walk right back the way you came," Sherlock instructed John shakily.

John frowned, "What? No, I'm coming in."

He made to take a step foreward when Sherlock sharply called over the phone, "Just do as I ask! Please."

John stepped back until Sherlock said over the phone, "Stop there. Look up."

"Oh my..." John's eyes grew wide as he stared at his best friend in horror.

"I-I can't come down, so we'll just...have to do it like this," Sherlock's voice echoed in his ears.

"What's going on?" John asked.

"An apology. It's all true. I'm a fraud. I invented Moriarty," Sherlock briefly turned to glance at the grinning body behind him.

"Why are you saying this?" John asked.

"Tell anyone who will listen to you," Sherlock continued. "I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson and Molly..." His voice trailed off.

"Shut up, Sherlock. The first time we met, you asked me Afghanistan or Iraq, remember?"

"I researched you. No one could be that clever," Sherlock responded, his voice shaking.

"No, that's enough. Stop it now," John's voice broke. He took a step towards Bart's and Sherlock's voice commanded him, "No! Stay right where you are."

John looked back up at Sherlock, who had stretched out a hand, "Keep your eyes fixed on me."

Sherlock took a deep breath, "This phone call, well, it's my note. That's what people do, isn't it? They leave a note."

John listened in horror and gasped out, "No!"

"Goodbye, John."

"No, don't!"

The call ended.

"Sherlock!"

The detective took a step foreward.

And fell.

* * *

**It's finally over. **

**Before you ask, yes I will be writing/posting a sequal, but it will take some time. I have a lot of planning to do before the sequal goes up. Thank you all for your support, comments, suggestions and reviews. And like always...**

**Thanks for reading.**


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